


Tale of the second drawer

by Psychopersonified



Series: Where was the wooing? [3]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Clueless 00Q, Fluff, Humour, M/M, hungry agents, intimacy in plain sight, pissing 007 off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:55:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23681974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Psychopersonified/pseuds/Psychopersonified
Summary: Part of the prequel series to "Are we ever going to talk about this?".I'll post little snippets of their 'not dating' days in this series. Little events that draw them together and the intimacy they share in plain sight.------Q pokes at the plaster with his undamaged hand, tracing the outlines of what must be an impressive blister underneath. “Owww... With luck, I might end up with a wicked scar. Makes for an interesting conversation starter.”Bond smiles indulgently at his exaggeration then lobs a half-hearted line at him, “Would you like me to kiss it better?” His calloused thumbs running back and forth lightly over the open palm.Q can’t help but laugh at that,......-----
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Series: Where was the wooing? [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1698100
Comments: 11
Kudos: 225





	Tale of the second drawer

**Agent 006**

“Yes I know, our appointment was 2 hours ago. Sorry Q, M had me in his office for 2 more hours than expected,” Trevelyan apologises when he reports to Q.

Q looks up from the textbook he is consulting with and peers over his glasses at him. The text is a mass of hexagonal scribbles and lines that 006 recognises as chemistry symbols. There are handwritten notes in the margins and liberal application of highlighter all over the page.

“Ah 006, no worries. Your kit is waiting for you on the table,” Q gestures to the workbench behind 006 where a brushed aluminium case sits. Inside are what looks like a dozen silver pens.

“Deposit them around the areas of interest and it will detect any wireless enabled equipment within its radius. This will allow us to find the weakest link and likeliest backdoor where we can tunnel in with. As you can imagine, it only has a limited battery life, so you’ll need to be strategic about using them and coordinate with us for the timing—...”

Alec tries to listen carefully to the instructions, but his stomach objects to being ignored any longer and makes its displeasure known - loudly. The meeting with M ate (pun intended) into his lunch hour.

Q pauses going over the instructions. Trevelyan gives him a thin lipped smile hiding his embarrassment.

“...Hungry? There are some snacks in the second drawer.” Q motions to his desk with a tilt of his head.

“Ta!..” 006 all but skips to the desk. There is a selection of protein snacks and Alec rummages through the drawer to find a variety he likes. As he shuffles through the drawer, the other contents piques his interest. He peeks at Q who is still preoccupied with repacking his kit.

006 takes the opportunity to investigate:

  * a pair of solid gold cufflinks - judging by the weight
  * aviator sunglasses - non prescription, not Q’s
  * an Aston Martin car key fob with a separate key attached to it - the key does not correspond to the car, its for a door or a lock. 
  * a neatly folded tie, heavy silk, designer label - not Q’s usual style



Curiouser and curiouser. Finally, an employee ID badge - he flips it over, a very familiar face is printed on the ID. James Bond.

Alec smiles - _confirmation-_. 006 sees it for what it is. But it is odd that the Quartermaster tolerates such territorial behaviour - unless a) the feeling is mutual or b) he’s not aware of it, which is more likely. He wouldn’t have let Alec rummage through his drawer otherwise. _Oh James, you poor smitten sod._

“Anything to your liking 006?” Q catches him smiling.

Alec grabs a random protein snack, rips it open and takes a huge bite of the bar. “Oh…mmm….” he chews around his words, “—thank you.” He holds up the bar in thanks.

When Q turns back around, 006 thinks this is the perfect opportunity to screw with 007... but how? _How do you piss off a possessive territorial lion? ...By planting blatant evidence of intrusion of course!_

Alec checks himself, his tie-pin - gold and crusted with small diamonds. Much too gaudy for 007’s tastes. It’s the perfect juxtaposition. He unclips it and drops it into the drawer.

When he leaves Q-Branch, he’s feeling particularly wicked. Its ingrained in him, to look for and act on opportunities when it presents itself. The others would expect no less of him. He pulls out his phone to text 003 with his discovery.

——

**Agent 003**

Two weeks later, 003 returns from her mission seducing the son of a manufacturing tycoon in South East Asia, with links to human traffickers luring workers into modern slavery that span the region from Philippines to India.

She stops by Q’s desk toreturn her kit consisting mostly of trackers and hidden video cameras. They all served their purpose but one of them had an issue with the sound quality. She recalls the text 006 sent her weeks earlier so before leaving, she contrives feeling hungry.

“Q, you don’t happen to have something to munch on do you? I’m feeling… peckish.”

Q is pre-occupied, checking over the piece of equipment with a macroscope to understand what went wrong. “Oh, second drawer. Help yourself to whatever.”

 _Perfect._ She goes to his desk to retrieve a snack. She only needs to remove the first packet and she has to stifle a laugh.

She spots 006’s panther shaped Cartier tie pin, next to it is 005’s Tiffany tanzanite and platinum drop earrings along with 002’s Bvlgari gold and onyx signet ring. Finally under all of it is 008’s Hermes silk pocket square.

Shoved further into the back of the drawer are the items that Alec told her about, those that belong to 007. The ID badge pushed right to the back facing down - you’d be hard pressed to notice it if you didn’t know it was there.

She had heard that 007 won’t back from Venezuela till Friday, so she’s just in time to add her calling card. She shifts around the snack packets to burry 007’s things and then drops in a stick of Chanel No5 lipstick in its signature flaming red tube - 007 will not be able to miss that.

\----— ****

**Quartermaster**

Last 36 hours had been exhausting. Q had altogether probably 3 hours of sleep in that period. And he needs a shower. The cats are alright, he just checked the cameras - Q has an automated feeder set up for emergencies like this.

Q had spent the better part of the time hacking into system after system covering tracks, laying traps, planning infiltration and escape routes; all culminating in last night’s tense Ops trying to save 009 from premature death when his cover was blown by a double crossing informant. It was over now, with 009 safely extracted by their allies and on his way back to England with miraculously minor injuries all things considered.

So yes, his hand eye coordination is shot. His fingers slip on his mug handle and liquid sloshes over the top, splashing over his shirt and onto his desk. Q uses his tie to quickly mop up the spilled tea before itspreads onto the paper schematic open on his desk.

He takes the mess to the pantry sink to cleanup. The wet spot on his shirt sticking uncomfortably to his skin. Its a good thing he’d removed his cardigan earlier. He can hide the stain on his shirt under it.

As he’s attempting to remove the stain and dry his shirt as much as possible he feels his phone vibrating in his pocket. He pulls it out - its a text from Eve:

:: Where are you?? Meeting’s started ::

 _What meeting?_ Q tries to recall. He checks his calendar app. _Shit!_ 2:00 pm Joint Executive Oversight meeting. He checks the time. 2:15pm!

He abandons the mug and tie next to the sink. No time to wash it now.

Q rushes back to his office to put on his cardigan. The cardigan doesn’t hide the topmost stain - a tie would do the trick. Also _god forbid_ he walks into the meeting dressed so causally. They would think the young Quartermaster was starting a mutiny.

 _There must be a spare tie in his desk somewhere_ \- Q thinks as he rummages through his drawers. He’s about to ask Nish to borrow his tie when his hand brushes fabric under the stash of snacks and protein bars. He fishes it out - _a tie! Yes!_ He loops it around his neck and starts to tie it - the knot is uneven, but he has no time to worry about it now.

He grabs his laptop and rushes out the door - informing Nish about the meeting and the mess he left next to the pantry sink. He’ll clean it up later.

In the lift on the way up, as he adjusts the hastily knotted tie - he tries to remember when was it that he purchased an accessory this fancy.

——

After meeting. He tries to get back to being productive to make himself feel better. What an ordeal; he had to face-off with Timothy Hayden (IT-Branch HOD) in the meeting - no surprise there. Normally he’d be fine to hold his own. But today, suffering from sleep depravation and a wardrobe mishap meant that he was uncharacteristically flustered, which Hayden took advantage of.

His stained and slightly damp shirt front was passably hidden behind the cardigan and tie, but it still made him self-conscious. What was more, Tanner and Eve kept looking at him oddly. The navy replacement tie looked dark enough in warm light, but when it caught the harsher fluorescent light, it had a slight iridescence to it that clashed with his mustard cardigan - it clearly wasn’t his style nor his tie.

Q fires up the soldering iron. He plans to finish the circuit board for the prototype controller that will be used in a portable drone. Once he confirms it works, he’ll have the schematics sent to a manufacturer to have it miniaturised. He could at least get this bit done today.

Twenty minutes into the ‘zone’ and he has finished a round of soldering. He pauses to check his work against the overall drawing. It doesn’t look quite right.

 _What?_ He flips the drawing around. _Argh!_ He grabs a fistful of his hair in frustration. _It’s upside down!_

He slams his hands down on the work table. The vibration causes the soldering iron resting on its holder to tip over. The weight of its power cord starts to pull it off the table.

Reflex makes him shoot out his hand to grab the iron. But instead of grabbing the handle he misjudges and grabs the tip instead. The 400’C tip burns his palm instantly. 

“Ah!!” Q yelps and jolts back in pain. The pain makes him drop the iron - right into his lap.

He stands hastily to avoid the heated tip - and bangs the back of his head against the top baffle of the fume cabinet as well as upending the stool he was sitting on.

“Fuck!!” The escaped curse is something between a hiss and a yell.

His pained curses and bangs draws his minions to investigate. Nish pokes his head around the corner and asks “You alright sir?”

Nish takes in the toppled chair, the disheveled hair, and the way Q is holding on to his hand and makes the correct deduction. Who hasn’t burned themselves soldering?

“Go to medical boss. I’ll tidy this up for you.”

Q hangs his head in utter defeat and sighs heavily. “I’m done for the day I think. Thanks Nish.”

\--—-

**Agent 007**

Bond is back at HQ. Ops had made it clear that he must hand them the USB stick with the time sensitive info he stole as soon as he gets back. They need to link together the web of supply chain involving the cocaine shipment from Venezuela-France-England before the people involved go back into hiding.

So here he is, direct delivery from Heathrow. He had handed the USB stick to R since Q wasn’t around. Then he had gone to the Quartermaster’s desk and the second drawer to retrieve a snack while he waits for Q to return. As jet-lagged as he is, he hasn’t seen the quartermaster for nearly a month and well... he wants more than just the voice to sustain him. 

Something on top of the packet grabs his attention. A bright red tube of lipstick. _What the...?_ He shifts the contents around, a gaudy diamond and gold panther tie pin?? And whose bloody pocket square is that???

He checks the lipstick label - Chanel No5… Bloody 003!

He takes stock of the other items again, they _-all-_ look familiar. How do they even _know_ about this drawer? Did Q just let _anyone_ rummage though his desk? Worse, are those snacks not _just_ for him?

And what about his things? A first he can’t find them, then he pulls the drawer all the way out, until the wheels catch on the stoppers. They’re buried under a pile of snacks and shoved all the way to the back. Everything is there, no wait - except the tie.

He slams the drawer shut with enough force to move the desk a few centimetres. _Those bastards!_

Bond storms out of Q-Branch. None of them better be in the building, especially Trevelyan. This whole thing reeks of his idea.

——

**Quartermaster**

Medical patched him up and sent him away with a box of hydrogel burn plasters. Dr Chen tells him that they stock it specially for Q-Branch. But that also means she is obligated to report the incident as a work place accident. Great, more paperwork and the irony of having the HOD become a statistic.

Q shuffles morosely back to Q-Branch - _will this day end already_. He figures he should have a nap before going home. At this rate he is likely to accidentally walk right into the path of a moving bus on the way home.

There is a set of old brown leather Chesterfield sofas, deliberately semi-hidden behind a rack of storage shelves on this floor of Q-Branch. A relic of the 1950s in perfect condition that they found in storage during one of their inventory audits. Q had it brought out to serve as a makeshift lounge, usually used by those working late nights or during pizza parties after CyberWar nights.

He removes his cardigan to use as a blanket and flops onto the sofa.

Hours later, he wakes up and the place is mostly dark except for the safety lighting. Most of his minions have gone home. It’s not uncommon to leave Q here alone when he’s pulling all nighters, but the last person would usually check in on him before they left. Not tonight.

Q indulges in a good stretch and sits up. His head feels better. It doesn’t feel like its swimming or floating anymore. But he is hungry.

He makes way to his desk to collect his things but stops short - startled by the sight of 007 lounging in his chair, feet propped up on the desk, a textbook on Advanced Biofuels open in his hands. He’s not wearing a suit, just a button down shirt and khakis which probably means he just got back from Caracas and hasn’t gone home yet.

“You’re back. What are you doing here?” Q asks softly. Genuine question, what is he doing sitting in a darkened Q-Branch.

“Came to drop off the usb drive. I’ve given it to R since the Quartermaster was temporarily out of commission.”

“Ah. Sorry about that — “ checks his watch and yawns. “That must have been hours ago. What are you still doing here then?”

Bond doesn’t answer. Instead he asks, “Is that my tie?” gestures to the loosened tie around his neck.

“Is it yours? I was wondering about it. I found it in my desk.” Q undos the tie and folds it back neatly before handing it over to Bond. As he does, he notices his own tie now hanging on the shade of his desk worklamp. He reaches for it.

“Leave it. It should dry by Monday.” Bond tells him.

Q opens his mouth to tell him that it needs a wash, but pauses when he catches sight of his Scrabble mug on the table under the light of the worklamp, the white porcelain gleaming pristine - he peeks inside, even the stubborn tea stains are gone. Q blinks in confusion.

Something about the way the two items are arranged prominently on his desk and the feigned nonchalance hiding a pleased look on Bond’s face that makes him wonder.

“Did you.. _wash_ my tie and mug?” Q is having trouble putting together the image of 007 fresh from an infiltration job in Venezuela that involved drug trafficking and a traitorous national guard, then returning to England to do something so mundanely domestic in the pantry sink - by hand no less.

Bond doesn’t answer, then again Q doesn’t expect him to admit it even if he did. He just opens the second desk drawer purposefully and deposits the borrowed tie back in there.

“Are you hungry _Q_?” Bond asks instead. “Can I tempt you with supper?”

There it is. That odd way that Bond sometimes says ‘Q’ when they are alone. That slight change in tone - softer, less clipped and almost affectionate. He’s beginning to be able to tell Bond’s ‘Qs’ apart.

At the mention of food, Q’s stomach responds with an embarrassing gurgle. “Famished. Something hot with fast service please. I don’t know how much longer I can survive without solid food.”

Bond smiles, pivoting in the chair to put his feet down. He picks up and hands Q his messenger bag - laptop and charger already packed inside, keys and phone in their usual compartments.

Then he switches off the worklamp and picks up an unsealed brown envelope from the desk before ushering Q out of his own office. The package rustles-jingles with the sound of loose items sliding about inside.

“Advanced Biofuels.... How did you like the book?”

“The scribbles in the margins were enlightening,” Bond smiles wryly, “Was it even written in English?”

In the brighter lights of the lift lobby, Q can see his own refection in the lift doors - the washed out tea stains still visible on his shirt and his frightfully mussed hair from the nap. He thinks he should be embarrassed, but can’t bring himself to care. When he looks up, he sees Bond staring him through the reflection.

“Don’t ask—“

“I figured… the mug and tie in the pantry, and the splotch on your desk.”

“Bloody spies.” Q accuses fondly as they step into the lift. He tries to adjust his cardigan so that it hides most of the stains.

“How’s the hand?” Bond asks concerned, his warm fingers reaching out and curling around Q’s that were fussing with his cardigan. He pulls them away from their fussing and spreads them palm up so he can see for himself.

Q pokes at the plaster with his undamaged hand, tracing the outlines of what must be an impressive blister underneath. “Owww... With luck, I might end up with a wicked scar. Makes for an interesting conversation starter.”

Bond smiles indulgently at his exaggeration then lobs a half-hearted line at him, “Would you like me to kiss it better?” His calloused thumb running back and forth lightly over the open palm.

Q can’t help but laugh at that, the flirting is so ingrained into their banter now that both of them recognise the ridiculousness of it. With the others, it is still a competition, a display of one up-manship - but with 007, it has shifted. Like they’ve called a truce, or simply didn’t care about the outcome anymore. Between them, the rules have changed. The fun was no longer in deciding a winner with a knockout blow, but in the simple joy of engaging in comfortable playfulness for as long as possible.

“I don’t know about the science of that; but I will give you the honour of hand feeding an invalid,” Q counters with a line of his own.

At the mention of hand feeding, Bond’s eyes go darker, pupils dilating. He doesn’t say anything, but doesn’t release Q’s hand until the lift dings on their floor which was (un)fortunately just a moment after.

On their way out to Bond’s car they stop at a security desk. Bond tips out the contents of the envelope onto her desk and leaves the empty envelope next to the items. The night guard’s eyes grow wide at the collection of expensive trinkets.

“Would you mind putting these in the Lost and Found please? Their owners are probably anxious to have them back. Thank you.” He walks back to a waiting Q with a smug smile.

—————


End file.
